


Scars

by kmlo2



Category: B.A.P
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Mentions of self-harm, attempted suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 18:29:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1698278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmlo2/pseuds/kmlo2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a clear morning in Spring, Kim Himchan's demise is rudely interrupted by a clumsy underclassman on his bike.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally posted to AFF. The themes dealt with are really close to my heart, so please be considerate if you're going to comment. ^^ Enjoy!

  
The view of the ocean is magnificent. It’s early morning still, but there’s enough sunlight to make the gently rippling water glitter like jewels. Pockets of white and golden light mix in with blues and greens, and travel on into the distance, meeting with the clear sky. The breeze is cooler than an average Spring morning, but it’s crisp and refreshing. With such dazzling scenery ahead, he forgets that he’s standing on a bridge, the sounds of rush hour traffic blaring behind him. He blocks it all out, and focuses on the beautiful morning in front of him. Everything from the clouds, to the colour of the sky, to the clarity of the water below him – it’s perfect.

 

It’s the perfect place to die.

 

Kim Himchan hasn’t led a pitiful life, to any extent that he’s aware. He is a bright student, class president, talented, with a decent face and a lot of friends. He always makes sure to be friendly, and to smile a lot. He’s friendly to everyone, even the people he’d rather not be friendly with. He smiles a lot, even for people who never return the gesture. Nobody’s asked him to do this; he does it because he knows he should… So why doesn’t anybody else do it?

He gives and gives and gives – supporting his classmates, studying hard, helping around at home – and the world around him takes without a second thought. To everyone he’s ever known, he has always been Himchan the Mood Maker, and the moment he tries to be anything else, to simply be  _Himchan_ , they turn away in denial. He does not exist except as a bubbly, playful boy. Nobody knows about the other sides of him, his hopes and dreams, his fears and insecurities. Nobody’s really bothered to ask, and now even Himchan himself has forgotten what they are.

They don’t care, no matter how much they say they do. It’s all an act. Nothing is real. People don’t show their true colours to anyone, and because of that they’re being suffocated. Everyone is suffering alone and others will never know about it. He used to be able to ignore it and try to live on. For years he’s tried to be strong and acted as if everything was okay, but it’s getting tiring, this business of faking and living amongst the fake. Himchan is  _tired_. That’s why he wants to end it all today.

He’s been thinking about it for a long time. Perhaps any other person would’ve been afraid to ponder one’s own death with such solemnity, but Himchan no longer has anything to fear. If loneliness and false smiles and empty words are all life has to offer, then he’d rather not make an effort to stay alive.

 

He left the house in his uniform this morning, in case his parents or neighbours got suspicious. He crosses this bridge on the way to school every morning, so it’s normal for him to be here at this time. Everything about this is unremarkable; his breathing is calm and his features expressionless. It’s unlike the loud, flashy version of himself that he shows his peers. He sets his bag on the ground and steps towards the railing. He doesn’t say goodbye, doesn’t think of anyone or anything before his last moment. There’s nothing for him here, nobody. He begins to hoist himself up over the rail, feeling the caress of the breeze in his hair and savouring it. He wonders if he’ll be able to feel things like this in death. He hears the sounds of cars behind him, and bicycles and their bells ringing.

No, it’s just  _one_  bike, and whoever’s riding it is ringing their bell more frantically now. It’s almost annoyi—

The next thing Himchan feels is the impact from the bicycle, and the shock and pain of being knocked off the rail onto the sidewalk.

 

Everything hurts when Himchan tries to get up. His arm is a mess from skidding across the ground, and he can imagine all the other scrapes and bruises he’s probably got. He can hear the cyclist hopping off their bike and running toward him.

“Sunbae! Are you all right?”

Himchan looks up at the person who’s approached him. It’s a boy wearing the same school uniform that Himchan is. Something is familiar about his gentle manner and timid smile. He’s met him before. The boy kneels beside him and tries to dust him off without aggravating any of the scrapes and cuts Himchan has acquired.

“Thanks,” Himchan tries to say, more out of habit than gratitude. It comes out as a growl that’s low in the back of his throat. He doesn’t really want to thank the kid, because after all,  _he’s_  the reason why Himchan is lying here in the first place.

“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t stop in time. I was afraid of running late so I was going a little faster than usual.”

He groans as the kid helps him sit up properly. “Don’t worry about it, uh…” Himchan knows that he knows this boy’s name, but his mind is drawing a blank.

“Moon Jongup,” says the boy bashfully. “You probably don’t remember, but you showed me around school when I first started.”

 

Ah, yes. Himchan can vaguely recall it, though it has been a year since then. Students from the second year class were assigned a first year student for the first two weeks of the school year. Himchan’s job was to show Jongup the way things worked in high school, help answer any questions, and other such things. Jongup was a strange kid. He would turn up late to their meetings, often disheveled as if he’d been through a tornado to get there, and he was really quiet. He’d simply smile and nod at everything he was told, and Himchan couldn’t help but wonder if the kid actually understood anything.

He seemed pretty vacant most of the time – once, Himchan had arranged to meet up with him at lunchtime to help answer some questions. He’d given the boy clear instructions on how to get to the library, where they were supposed to meet, but instead Himchan found him behind the gym cornered by a bunch of boys from the second year. If it hadn’t been for Himchan being fairly well respected amongst the students in his class, Jongup would’ve been beaten to a pulp. After that, the kid seemed to pay more attention to his surroundings and was more responsive in general. It seemed that he’d learned his lesson.

At the end of their two weeks together, Jongup had unexpectedly given him a ninety-degree bow in appreciation. Since that time, Himchan saw him around school every now and then, but they never spoke to each other. Sometimes, though, Himchan would catch him staring, waiting, as if wanting to say something to him. He never did though, and whenever Himchan glanced in his direction, Jongup would look away and pretend to be doing something else, though his beet-red face never failed to betray him.

 

Himchan nods and acknowledges him by name. The boy smiles in response, but says, “Will you be able to walk, sunbae?”

With a groan, Himchan tries to stand and find out. Just as he thinks he’s okay to stand, his ankles give way and he collapses again, fortunately caught by Jongup’s surprisingly strong arms.

“That won’t do,” the kid says softly. “You’ll have to get on my bike.”

He helps the older student back to the bicycle, picks up his bag, and after a bit of fumbling around, manages to get them both on the bike. Himchan’s whole body aches but he’s still able to weakly protest, “You don’t have to take me, I don’t—”

“There’s no time, sunbae.” Jongup checks his watch. “We’ll get detention if we’re any later!”

They take off in the direction of their school with Jongup pedaling as hard as he can, given the added weight. Himchan sighs. This is not the way he expected his perfect death to turn out.

 

When they get to school, Jongup carries Himchan to the nurse’s office on his back. Himchan feels his muscles move beneath his thin uniform shirt. The kid is definitely stronger than he looks. He places Himchan gently down on the bed in the infirmary and, instead of waiting for the nurse, he grabs the cotton swabs and antiseptic and proceeds to clean Himchan’s wounds on his own. He applies the antiseptic to the scrapes on Himchan’s arms, knees and cheek. His touch is deliberate but gentle as he bandages the broken skin.

Himchan feels safe being close to him, but upset. If Jongup hadn’t crashed into him, he wouldn’t be returning to this school full of posers and pretenders. The kid’s brought him back to the one place Himchan never wanted to return to. Once Jongup heads off for class, Himchan promises himself that he will have his way. He’ll be dead by the afternoon.

He bears with the nurse and her unnecessarily lengthy checkup procedure. Himchan’s pretty sure he has no broken bones or anything, but the nurse insists on completing the checkup anyway. She asks him a few questions about the incident, then gives him a couple of painkillers to take. She puts her notes in order and takes her leave, telling him to get some rest and that she’d notify his teachers about his absence.

After he’s sure it’s all over and can hear her typing away at the computer in her office, Himchan reaches over to the table and grabs the bottle of antiseptic liquid. He removes the stopper and takes a whiff of it. It doesn’t smell too pleasant, and the aftermath won’t be pretty, but it’ll work. Holding his breath, Himchan brings the bottle to his lips and is about to drink when he’s interrupted by a startled yelp.

 

“Sunbae, stop!”

 

Jongup appears by his side and snatches the bottle away, spilling half of the liquid all over Himchan’s shirt in the process. Himchan wants to yell at him, or punch him, or simply lie down and sulk with his back turned, but he can’t. Not when Jongup is looking at him with a look of such genuine concern. The tiniest, faintest hint of guilt creeps up on him. He says nothing.

Jongup sighs. “Sunbae, if you’re thirsty, just ask for water.”

An incredulous smile spreads across Himchan’s lips. Is Jongup belittling the fact that he just tried to kill himself again, or is he just dense? The kid wordlessly sits down on the bed next to him, and he remains like this for some time. When Himchan asks why he’s not in class, Jongup grins.

“I pretended to be sick.”

Perhaps he’s not as dense as Himchan first thought.

“Anyway, you should take your shirt off,” suggests Jongup, and at this Himchan freezes.

“Th-that isn’t necessary.”

“It’s stained though.” the younger one replies, “You can wear my P.E. shirt instead.”

To emphasise his point, Jongup unzips his bag and pulls out the aforementioned P.E. uniform shirt. “It’s just been washed, so don’t worry. It doesn’t smell.”

That isn’t what Himchan is worried about.

 

Despite his protests, Jongup turns to him and begins to pull his shirt over his head. Himchan fights it, though the graze on his arm still stings and his muscles ache. He can’t let Jongup see his body, at any cost. He yells at him to stop, but by then, Jongup has already managed to lift his shirt halfway up his chest, and that’s when he stops. When he speaks, it sounds as if he’s choking on his words.

“Sunbae… th-those… a-aren’t from the accident…”

Himchan exhales in frustration. He can’t seem to look Jongup in the eyes. The younger one finishes what he set out to do, and removes the uniform shirt. Himchan flinches at the sudden cold, wrapping his arms around himself to both stay warm and hide his cuts as much as he can. It’s too late though – Jongup has already seen them all. They’re the legacy of his contempt with life, each cut laden with his disillusionment, and his yearning for something bigger than his mundane existence. Some of them are months old, leaving uneven scar tissue as evidence. Some are fresh from last night, still throbbing and angry, probably just beginning to scab over. He has always preferred cutting his torso rather than his wrists – he can hide the cuts more easily that way.

Without another word, Jongup pushes Himchan back to lie propped up against the pillows. He gets up and rummages around the infirmary until he finds a box of topical preparations and extracts from it a tube of ointment and some more cotton swabs. He begins to dab at Himchan’s new cuts one by one, his touch feather-light. Himchan watches him as he does. There are dozens of cuts all across Himchan’s chest, stomach and sides, and Jongup pays close attention to each of them. He’s sticking his tongue out in concentration, being so careful it’s as if he’s handling gold.

“When did you start, sunbae?” Jongup’s voice is meek when he asks.

Himchan sighs, “A long time ago.”

“I see.”

“…You don’t have to do this, Jongup.”

The addressed shakes his head. “If I don’t, they’ll leave scars.”

Again they return to silence and Himchan cannot stop himself from being moved by the loving care with which Jongup handles his wounds. After he’s done, he dresses Himchan in the P.E. shirt, careful not to aggravate the countless cuts and scrapes and bruises on the body of the older one. Once Himchan is dressed Jongup tucks him beneath the crisp white sheets.

 

For the rest of the day, Jongup keeps him company. He shares his lunch with him and fetches water for him and makes sure that he takes his second dose of painkillers on time. He only talks when Himchan feels like talking, and the rest of the time, he just sits there and watches him. Although it’s awkward, Himchan doesn’t particularly mind it – the boy doesn’t expect anything from him, and he’s not unpleasant to be around. At length, the kid eventually speaks again.

“You should get some sleep, sunbae.” Jongup says. “A lot has hap—”

“Why do you care?” Himchan’s retort is brusque, and it evidently hurts the younger. Really though, while it’s been nice, this has gone on long enough. “This has nothing to do with you, so why are you acting like it does?”

Jongup sits back and looks wistfully out the window. “My older brother killed himself when I was in my last year of middle school.”

It feels like a weight has been dropped onto Himchan’s shoulders. He sinks lower into the bed and struggles to breathe. The younger student sighs, the timid smile disappearing from his lips.

 

He begins to recall that time. His brother had been bullied into it. Just days after the funeral, Jongup himself was approached by the boys responsible for tormenting his brother. They were in Himchan’s year. They told him they’d make sure Jongup received the same treatment once he entered high school. The younger spent the rest of the year dreading it, and trying to convince his parents to send him to a different school. Of course, they wouldn’t take him seriously, and he ended coming here.

Right from the first day, they found him. They wouldn’t leave him alone. That’s the reason why Jongup was usually late whenever Himchan arranged to meet him. They’d beat him the way they probably beat his brother, and they threatened worse if Jongup ever told anyone else. Jongup simply accepted his fate, never reporting them. That day he bumped into them outside the gym, they were planning to lock him in the storage room.

When Himchan stepped in, he had inadvertently saved Jongup. It was the first time he’d seen anybody so confidently stand up to them, even though all Himchan did was tell them to stop bugging him. Prior to that, the idea seemed ridiculous. He believed without a doubt that he was destined to forever be on the receiving end of all this bullying, and that he too would bring sadness and despair to his loved ones someday, the way his brother had.

Himchan had changed all that for him. His entire view on the situation had been turned around. When they beckoned him, he smiled and walked on by. When they tried to corner him, he would tell them he didn’t have time for them, and would politely excuse himself. He started putting more effort into his personal fitness, so if they ever resorted to physical violence, he could defend himself. He made sure never to throw the first punch or to hurt his upperclassmen severely, but he didn’t fear them, either. He stopped giving them the chance to even begin to threaten him. Over time, they stopped trying to pick on him altogether.

The boy smiles a melancholy smile. If someone had done for his brother what Himchan had done for Jongup, perhaps he’d still be here. He might’ve even been in one of Himchan’s classes. The regret in Jongup’s eyes hurts Himchan more than any injury he’s ever inflicted on himself.

 

“That’s why I can’t let you die. I couldn’t help my brother, but maybe I can help you, sunbae. You saved my life – I’d never forgive myself if I couldn’t do anything to save yours.”

This kid has some kind of chivalry complex. Trying to 'save his life' - Himchan chuckles in disbelief. “Don’t be stupid,” he says bitterly, “I don’t need your help.”

“But you don’t seem to have any close friends, sunbae. You get along with everyone but you keep your feelings to yourself, and this is why you’re suffering.”

Whatever Himchan had planned to say in rebuttal is instantly forgotten when Jongup shifts closer to him, his gaze silently pleading.

“I don’t know why you want to die, and I’m not sure that I can fix whatever it is that’s hurting you, but I can listen. It doesn’t matter what you want to say, if it’s a lot of things or just a little – I’ll listen to it all. You don’t have to keep it bottled up. You don’t even have to talk, if you don’t want to. I’ll keep you company for however long you want me to. I’ll be the one you can turn to when there’s nobody else. I'll do whatever it takes.”

 

As a force of habit, Himchan strains his ears to hear the hesitation in Jongup’s voice. He searches his eyes for insincerity or an ulterior motive. He finds none of the things he’s looking for. The kid’s words are honest, and his smiles are not meaningless or empty. The affection with which he grasps Himchan’s hand is not forced or faked, and he’s never felt so safe just by having his hand held. He doesn’t resist when, in the heat of the moment, Jongup places his lips over Himchan’s own. It’s not an act. Jongup has seen this marred, hateful side of him – his  _real_  self – but is still able to embrace him like this. His kiss is tender and full of devotion. It leaves Himchan breathless. Even as they break contact, the sensation lingers. He releases his grip on Jongup’s hand, only just noticing how tightly he’d been holding it.

“Please live,” Jongup begs in a whisper, his breath ghosting Himchan’s lips. “Not just for your sake, but for mine.”

Himchan struggles to give a definite answer. He can’t make any promises, but he will try. This is enough to satisfy the younger, though. His face lights up and he lovingly kisses Himchan’s forehead. Himchan smiles wholeheartedly for the first time in weeks, maybe even months.

 

At the end of the day, they go home together on Jongup’s bike. The latter doesn’t say anything, but Himchan can picture the content smile he is probably wearing right now. He slinks his arms around Jongup’s waist and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. He savours the subtle warmth he can feel through Jongup’s clothes in contrast to the cool evening air. In the distance, he can see blushing sky meet sparkling water as Jongup pedals across the bridge.

As they go past, Himchan looks back at the spot where he’d been standing. It was supposed to be the perfect stage for his death – no, rather, it really  _was_  the stage for his death. This morning when Jongup stopped him from jumping off the bridge, the old Himchan had died, and with one kiss, a new Himchan had been given life.

His heart swells at the thought and his lips move in response, forming words that sound foreign to his ears.

“Jongup, I… I lov…”

He stops mid-sentence, filled with fear. These aren’t words he can say confidently. He’s not ready for this. He’s still afraid, still tired of his existence. But he thinks to himself, he may have lost faith in everyone around him, but he has faith in this boy sitting in front of him. It may take a long time before he gets better, but Jongup will be there for him. Perhaps he’s not yet able to say the words he wanted to, but he’ll give it time, and when they’re both ready, Himchan knows the words will come forth, fearless and unabashed.

 

 “Did you say something, sunbae?” asks Jongup, sparing him a brief glance.

“No, it’s just… I… I just…” Himchan gives up trying to explain and leans his head on Jongup’s back. After a minute of hesitation, he finally speaks. Though he says only two short words, they’re filled the weight of his grief, the pain of his self-inflicted wounds, and most importantly, the rekindling of hope in his heart.

 

“Thank you.”

 

 

 


End file.
